Diamonds of Water and Salt
by Child of Loki
Summary: Emily well knows that men from the future can cause a woman to weep... Matt/Emily. Chapter 11: At this moment, what Emily Anderson felt was profound joy.
1. You came looking for me?

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Primeval **_**or its characters… Title (Diamonds of Water and Salt) taken from lyrics of 'Teardrops' by **_**The Proclaimers**_

**Author's Note: Emily seems like a strong person, but always ends up crying on account of Matt. Thought it would be a fun approach to exploring their relationship… This should be chronological. At least I'm approaching it that way… Will consist of episode tags, missing scenes, random fic, and speculation. :-)**

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><p><strong>Episode Tag: 4x05<strong>

"**You came looking for me?"**

It had been the most frightening experience of her life. There had been great bouts of panic alternating with fear. And if she were to be entirely honest with herself, there had been a substantial degree of hysteria as well. She was going to die. In a dark, rank, cold tomb. Alone. Slowly. Suffocating. Breaths would come in shorter, laboured gasps and then, nothing...

However, her fate somehow was not to join Charlotte, the others in the Cameron crypt, the thousands of dead in the cemetery. Matt Anderson had come looking for her, had found her, had pulled her from the clutches of death.

He... he confused Emily. The man was so reticent, so reserved, so _focused_. Upon what precisely, she could not say, but his thoughts perpetually seemed preoccupied elsewhere than his person. She had not expected him to search her out, had not suspected that he actually cared about her, would notice her missing. Even though his eyes lingered strangely upon her at times.

And he had held her so tight.

She hadn't wept. It had been a dangerously close thing, but she had constrained the tears that threatened. Sobbing like an injured child would've been quite the embarrassment, to appear so vulnerable to a man with whom she were barely acquainted. (Not that she hadn't clung to him in a most inappropriate manner.) Lady Emily Merchant could take care of herself...mostly. Being buried alive was simply not a problem anyone could resolve without a trifle assistance.

This was nothing to dwell upon, for certain. There were far more fearsome creatures scattered throughout the gateways than Ethan's mania. She had found herself in far more dire situations. And she was used to battling for survival in harsh worlds. More than that, she was accustomed to possessing a responsibility for the lives of others, of guiding them, keeping them safe.

Then why had she permitted him to guide _her_ like a small child from the loathsome place that was nearly her tomb? Gentlemanly in manner, he had opened the door of the strange vehicle (which having seen enough of this time Emily had to admit was likely the standard mode of transport and should no longer shock her) and helped her settle into the seat, fastening a strap across her as he had done before when he first brought her to his home to keep her hidden, free, and safe. Well, not so safe...

Emily felt wholly pathetic and useless.

As if sensing her melancholic turn of thought, he reached out his hand and strong fingers gently folded about hers. She looked down at the oddity sitting in her lap, trying to recall ever previously being the recipient of such a gesture. It had certainly been a long, long while. It would have had to been her wedding, when Henry took her hand for that part of the ceremony. Excepting there had been no warmth in the ceremonial touch. Not like the embrace that was presently sending a strange sort of heat flowing up her arm and over her skin. It was somehow simultaneously reassuring and disquieting.

She looked from the hand that showed no signs of withdrawing (what almost appeared to be a sign of affection) to its owner. Matt Anderson stared stoically out at the road before him. Emily wondered perhaps if his hand had acted of its own accord. No. A glance -ever so brief- in her direction. A look that said so much, yet in a language she could not quite comprehend. One sentence amongst the lengthy tome in his eyes read perfectly clear, however.

_Everything is going to be fine._

Now the tears that had previously merely threatened spilled silently down her cheek. Thankfully, she had been able to turn her face away, looking out the window yet seeing nothing of the strange world passing by for the blur of water in her eyes. She collected herself, wiping away the wetness on her face with her free hand, not wanting to release Matt Anderson's hand for some reason unbeknownst to her conscious mind.

When she finally looked in his direction, the man gave no indication as to whether he'd seen her weeping. And she was not about to draw his attention to the weakness on the slim chance he indeed remained oblivious to her apparent vulnerable state.

Emily squeezed the strong fingers curled about her hand, suppressing a smile when they squeezed back.

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><p><strong>AN: Hopefully, will have more soon…**


	2. Who was he?

**Author's note: So… Guess we'll see how tiresome scenes in which Emily inevitably cries become. ;-) People cry for various reasons, so hopefully I can work a variety of genres and emotions into this fic. But for now, another episode tag…**

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><p><strong>Episode Tag 4x06<strong>

**"He's gone."**

**"I'm Sorry. Who was he?" **

**"My father."**

It was undeniably the most raw emotional state she had ever witnessed upon him. For once, his feelings were entirely unguarded. Witnessing this level of discomposure on such a man would have normally shocked her into inactivity or sent her searching for someplace else to be.

Not this time.

He had lost his father, and it was obvious that he had no one else. There was a grief, even fear, manifested in a profound loneliness colouring his piercing blue eyes as his gaze met hers. Tears that had already dissipated were mere stains scarce visible upon his cheeks, but the sadness remained.

Emily carefully set the tea tray down. It rattled slightly as her trembling hands placed it upon the table.

She could only wonder what it was about this particular man that moved her so, as she embraced Matt, hugging him snug to her body, placing a kiss upon the top of his head. His arms snaked around her middle in a desperate embrace, like a pained child instinctively reaching out and clinging to whomever was near. She felt the knot tighten her throat and her eyes overflowed.

It was a sympathy she should not hold for someone so unfamiliar to her. Their acquaintanceship boasted a duration of mere days. So why then, contrary to all rational thought, did she feel more sure of him than any other person she'd ever met? How could he drive her to passions a stranger should be incapable of eliciting? In the short time since he'd chased her through that gateway, he'd vexed her most thoroughly, repeatedly driven her to frustration, intrigued her, made her laugh, made her cry, and coaxed sympathy from the depths of her heart.

Yet whatever the reason, she took his pain as her own when she took him in her arms, her hand stroking his back, her body instinctively rocking them ever so slightly in a gentle, soothing manner.

And Emily would not deny that she shed more tears than the man mourning the loss of what seemed his only real connection to the world. She wept for his pain, because it was apparent he could not, /did/ not know how to express his grief beyond the briefest display of emotion.

After a few minutes of the awkward -yet somehow not awkward in the least- intimacy, he pulled out of her embrace, her arms willingly releasing him.

"Thank you."

The words were barely discernable, filled with a sob squelched in his throat, which he proceeded to clear whilst looking away. When his eyes returned to her face, they had reformed that guarded edge she'd seemed to have pondered endlessly in the few days she'd spent in his company.

"You're quite welcome," she said. "I am truly sorry for your loss."

He nodded his head in acceptance of her spoken sympathy, the both of them knowing the verbal condolence was little comparison to the comfort she had already given him. A comfort she would've given anyone in his circumstance. Was it not? She had held him, grieved with him, simply because there was no one else and to abandon a person to solitude in such sadness was unconscionable. Wasn't that right?

Then why had his pain been profound enough to make her weep as if she were the injured party? It was not possible for a person to be stabbed straight through the heart and for another to suffer the bleeding. Yet, that was how it had been, how it was, and Emily had an inkling how it would always be with this man and herself.

A most unsettling occurrence indeed...

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><p><strong>AN: I really enjoy how Emily was in the unique position of seeing the more personal side of Matt during these episodes. Was it what led to the development of their relationship? Or was it because of a strange, instant connection between them that he allowed her to get close?**


	3. I thought perhaps

**Author's Note: Wow this is quite taxingly angst-ridden… I suppose it was that way in the series, though. And who the hell am I kidding? I love me some angst ;-)**

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><p><strong>Episode tag 4x07<strong>

**"I thought perhaps I would tell you I'd stay..."**

Emily continued to back away from the glowing light of the gateway, tears streaming down her pale cheeks until her back abutted an unyielding surface. A roughness against the palms of her hands informed her that it was the trunk of a tree. A glance about her informed that she presently resided in a forest, in the middle of the night. The capabilities of those she had met in the 21st century were wondrous indeed, and she did not doubt their assertion that the gateway pulsating before her eyes had taken her to her native time.

The glowing light faded, throbbed and then closed in upon itself, vanishing altogether and abandoning her to the pitch black night.

Her knees felt weak, and she slid into an unceremonious heap at the base of the tree.

It would not have made the slightest difference to her, were she now residing in some alien time filled with monstrous creatures and not another living human soul around for a hundred millennia. For he had sent her away.

She had known what he would do, had spared him the responsibility of rejecting her outright, spared him the guilt of her heartache, by preempting all the rationalizations he would've given. And it was right that she had made her departure so easy.

_Easy._

Probably not the most accurate description. It had been a terrible hurt. One she had never quite felt the likeness of before. A sort of hollow loss similar to the sorrow she had felt over Charlotte's death, over her mother's so many years ago. And simultaneously, paradoxically, altogether different.

Matt Anderson was alive and well, free to carry on his mission. Better she were not there to _complicate_ matters. Part of her argued that she could've assisted him, that she could have been an ally of which he was in most desperate need. But she well knew how confused her own feelings had become, how difficult it had become to keep her thoughts straight and focused on her own responsibilities, duty.

Her duty to her husband... Stranger though he may be, she was bound to him.

At the base of the great oak tree, Emily curled herself into tight little ball, in the manner of a child. When first light came, she would seek out her fate, what must be her inevitable destiny. Her adventures had merely been a brief detour, for she was back where she had begun... Back where… she sighed… she belonged.

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><p><strong>AN: Promise there will be some lighter bits eventually. I am actually enjoying writing these short tags and etc. Epic fics can be draining/stressful…**


	4. Crying is little consolation

**Author's note: Emily is a character filled with potential. I keep trying to make her husband seem not so bad, because she seems too strong, smart, independent, to tolerate such a man (who could even be physically abusive to her, judging by the way she flinches when he yells). But that's not quite relevant to this piece, at any rate.**

**Warning: References to mature subject matter.**

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><p><strong>Between episodes 4x07 and 5x03…<strong>

The cold flooded in, turning her skin to gooseflesh and sending a shiver dancing up her spine on nimble, prickly feet. When the warmth of the blankets settled once more, Lady Emily Merchant pulled the covers up over her head and wriggled further into the cozy confines. Footsteps muffled by her cocoon indicated the departure of her husband.

He never tarried. Never lingered for more than was required to perform his conjugal task. For her part, Emily believed she performed her wifely duty admirably, if not enthusiastically. Never enthusiastically. That was quite impossible, when he stole into her bedchamber in the middle of the night, more oft than not stinking of the spirits and cigar smoke typical to his gentlemen's clubs, when he pulled back the covers of her safe cocoon, the shock of cold air jarring her from sleep, when his hands brusquely tugged at her nightgown, at her hips, when he roughly entered her, without a word, without a kiss. At least he finished quick enough. There was comfort in knowing she had only to tolerate the discomfiture of his rutting temporarily, and soon she could return to her sleep.

Except for times such as these, when sleep would not grace her with its obliterating presence. When it refused to sweep aside the thoughts that disturbed and tormented. Pulling her knees into her body, Emily curled into a ball beneath the smothering weight of the blankets and fought the tears welling in her eyes.

The worst part of it all was not the indifference of her husband, the condescending treatment of society, or the whispers at her back. Not even the loss of independence, for which she had acquired quite the taste in her three years lost through time. None of it was what made her heartsick. She could have borne it all. She was resigned to her fate. Never would she have been happy, but she would have been content in the knowledge that she was doing what was 'expected' of her, her duty to her family. Now... now there was only misery. Misery because thoughts of _him_ would not leave her.

_Damn all men from the future!_

Before, long before, there had been a few gentleman who courted her in her youth, but her father had been saving her hand to secure a particularly good match. Perhaps she should be grateful, for she now knew she had not loved any of them and lamented the loss of their attentions not. She had been given a taste of the mad variety of love of which the poets, the bard, had spoken. And it haunted her. Teased her. Stirred a thirst and an ache deep inside of her.

And it made her weep.

Emily hugged her arms about her, closing her eyes and imagining she lay in his strong embrace. Lustful and unfaithful as it was, sometimes she attempted to imagine it was Matt's hands on her hips, Matt's body pressed intimately to hers, his flesh filling her, rather than that of her unpleasant husband. A futile fantasy that only deepened the ache, compounded the pain that had split her heart and widened the breach like a crevasse in soft ground every time she lost her footing.

Crying herself to sleep was little consolation.

And Emily would not even attain such solace this night. She sighed, threw back the covers and rose to wash the remnants of copulation from her thighs and the tears from her face.

The imprint of Matt Anderson, however, would not be so easily removed.

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><p><strong>AN: Hopefully, these little fics will be getting longer/lighter in a bit (but of course there's more angst to come since I haven't made it through tagging series 5 yet...**


	5. Emily, I want you to come back with me

**Author's Note: Meant for this to go up last week. But you know, life… I don't usually rehash canon events, so this was something new for me. Hopefully, it wasn't too redundant and actually merited writing.**

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><p><strong>Episode Tag 5x03<strong>

**Emily, I want you to come back with me.**

Her heart was as a stone, turned to lead in but a blink of an eye. No longer beating and settling hard into the depths of her belly.

He had never given her such a blatant indication of his feelings for her. Oh, she had known, despite his reticence. There had been small, subtle signs, and obvious ones, too. She well remembered and dwelled upon those brief flashes of affection in his blue eyes, the feel of his arms holding her tight, the fleeting touch of his lips to hers as they parted ways seemingly forever. Yet, he had never given her words. Words such as these, edged with a desperate sort of what could almost be called need. Hopeful and simultaneously despairing. And genuine.

In the time she had spent with him, a personal desire or request had never passed his lips. All his concerns had been for everything but himself. But now, now _he _wanted her to go back with him. After sending her away...

_Resolve, Emily. Remember your resolve._

Seeing Matt Anderson again had been a shock to the fragile balance she had only just begun to attain, settling into and accepting her old Victorian life. It threatened to see her completely undone. And the only way she had been able to save herself from utter emotional devastation was the instantaneous decision she'd made to harden her heart against him.

For whatever reasons, ones with which she in fact agreed, he had rejected her, rejected what could have been between them -what admittedly probably could never have been. And she had accepted the decision. Now it was her turn to remain strong, to reject his weakness.

She shook off the surprise of his invitation, her heart beating once more as they shoved the creature over the railing to fall to its fate. What she thought had turned hard and unfeeling, never to beat again, attained an even quicker rhythm in her chest, as they followed the raptor down the winding staircase to where the gateway stood glittering, a temptation stronger than any the Devil could ever conjure.

Matt tried her again, saying things she knew in her heart were true but that she did not wish to consider for the pain they caused. However, the most heart-wrenching were not his words but the emotion apparent in his face, his unwavering, nearly pleading gaze.

She had to be strong. Oh, he needed her to be strong. This was just a momentary weakness, brought about by the shock of their improbable reunion. He had been right to send her away. He had his own commitments. She had her responsibilities. Because if it hadn't been the correct course of action, then the foundation upon which she had rebuilt her identity was but as air, and she would crumble into ruins.

Matt told her he was sorry. He was wrong. But he wasn't wrong to keep her at a distance, he _wasn't_! He could not be wrong for doing so!

"I've really missed you."

The pain stabbed her as if a knife had been plunged into her chest. A tear escaped her firm grip upon her nerves, rolling silently down her cheek.

"And I you," she said, willing herself to maintain the small distance between their bodies, fighting and barely winning the battle not to throw herself at the man stood before her, the only man who'd ever made her feel-

The noise of the mob above them thankfully interrupted her descent into self-indulgent sentiment. He had to go. She had to protect him, as much as he had sent her away to protect her.

A single moment more and she would forget her responsibility to him, to herself, to history and fate, instead following the overwhelming instinct to be with him.

"Goodbye, Matt." She didn't choke on the words, on her heart. But only just.

Then he stepped up, the expanse between them dwindling so that if she breathed deeply, her breast would brush against his. The familiar scent of him teased various memories from the repressed recesses of her mind. And the warmth of his body that was stood so close to hers beckoned and tormented the flimsy shreds of her self-control. Before she truly had time to consider succumbing to his nearness, his lips were pressed to the corner of her mouth and she thought she would die for the joy of his touch.

No. She would die for the loss of him, Emily decided as he pulled away from her and with a last mournful consideration, was gone.

And that was good. That was _right_. The way things should be, _had_ to be. Taking a deep breath, Emily pulled in all the shards of herself that had been slowly falling away since she'd laid eyes upon Matt Anderson again and her carefully reconstructed persona fractured. She had rebuilt it once. She could very well do so again.

Before she had even a moment to collect herself, Henry was there, berating her with insults, threats.

She had witnessed his displeasure, his disdain for her before, nearly every day of their married life. However, it had always been an aloof, superior sort of dislike and he had never condescended to actually hating her. Thus the utter vehemence that flashed in his eyes terrified her. More than his words. More than the pistol presently pointed menacingly toward her person.

But he wouldn't shoot her.

He was not that sort of man.

She told him so, in case he had temporarily forgotten the nobility she had attributed to him.

Another glance at his wild eyes, sent a true dread cascading through her. More than that, it effectively severed the ties that held her carefully constructed facade in place. The false persona, the reasons for the pretense to be what she was not, came crashing down around her, setting the woman inside free.

It was as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even though the danger had not yet passed. And when Henry discharged the pistol and she felt the impact of the bullet at her shoulder, Emily actually desired to live, and resolved to survive and find a real life, a life for herself…

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><p><strong>AN: It seemed silly to continue through the rest of the episode, when the emotions are pretty blatant in the canon, and those surrounding the moment of her crying happen before the whole stand-off with Henry. Thus, the not quite complete ending, but you know what happened anyway. **

**Almost through with the episode tags for this fic. Then onto random, speculative chapters…**


	6. You could just disappear

**Author's Note: Here's Emily's version of that delicious angst circa end of series 5.**

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><p><strong>Episode Tag 5x06<strong>

**If you fail, you die. If you succeed, if you change the future, you might never have existed. You could just... disappear.**

They were... She had begun...

No matter.

What was required from her at this moment, what _he _needed from her was strength. A strength to mirror his own, to fill any small fractures in his unwavering determination. The man was strong in a way she could never hope to fathom. There were few, if any, who would do what he were about to do. He hadn't told the others, hadn't spoken a word, but Emily could see Matt Anderson's mind at work. She knew the decision he'd made almost before he'd even settled upon it.

And he couldn't leave her like this, ignoring that it might be 'goodbye'.

"You're going to drive it yourself," she said. It was not an accusation, merely a statement of an awful fact.

He tried to reassure her, in his way, without making promises, without making excuses. She knew she shouldn't, but she told him her fears, that she would lose him no matter what the outcome. He silenced her, a sorrow and longing mirroring her own in his eyes. They kissed.

When he pulled away to leave her, no further protestation passed her lips. She had to let him go. He would not be the man over whom she was breaking her heart if he could be persuaded otherwise. This decision was part of what defined him. And she loved him, would not change him for the world, even if it meant she would lose him forever.

As soon as Matt had set about his terrible task, the others calling and shouting after him, regret stung Emily, spreading through her like venom flooding her veins. She regretted not saying the words. The reasons had been valid at the time. Life was complicated. Their emotional and physical stability was tenuous at best. He had enough consuming his thoughts, and she had just witnessed her husband die. Granted Henry had been a man she did not care much for, but it had been a traumatic experience nonetheless.

Various, futile attempts at dismissal. Excuses, the lot of her reasoning. The truth of the matter was solid and unwavering, like a boulder firmly entrenched in the seabed despite the tempest raging at the ocean surface. She loved Matt. And she should have told him so.

And now it was too late. The enormous, horrible gateway surged and collapsed upon itself, taking with it her heart.

Except, he had known. She had seen it in his eyes. It was much more a comfort than the surprisingly tender gesture of Captain Becker's embracing her.

And it was also an agony. Emily loved Matt. And he knew it. And there were so many things to regret. Not things done, but things not done, that would never be done. And they washed over her in a flood.

She regretted the loss of all the days they would not have. All those subtle smiles that originated deep inside of Matt and lit him from within, brightening his eyes even when he denied them from his lips. All the laughter she'd never coax from him, the joy he'd never bring her. Never again lying in his arms, safe and warm after a trying day. And most of all, shocking and indecent as it was, Emily regretted never having lain with him, never having taken him inside of her body in the manner a wife welcomes her husband into her. No. That was not quite right. She'd been a wife before. She regretted not lying with Matt as a woman takes the man she loves to her bed.

She regretted not knowing every single part of him, every mood, every thought, every inch of skin, every beat of his heart.

Would she forget the little she did know? Would every person he'd ever met?

She did not want to forget Matt Anderson. She could not. The pain of losing him would be preferable to the fleeting emptiness she would inevitably feel, the void his absence would leave even if she could never articulate the reason, never recall the man.

Oh, it hurt worse than any pain she'd previously borne. The ache swelled until every other sensation was a numb whisper. She did not feel Becker's hand on her arm. She did not feel the tears on her cheeks. She only felt the devastating grief of loss and heartache.

Just as quickly as her world had turned dark, it became light again, as if the sun once more peaked out from behind the blanket of an eclipse. For there was a silhouette amongst the billows of smoke and debris. Even through the stinging blindness of tears, her eyes detected it, latched upon it, could not blink or waver. Her heart, which had dropped out the bottom of her stomach, leapt into her throat, pounding its excited rhythm in her ears.

The silhouette was human.

There was a man amid the remains of the fantastical destruction. And Emily could only think of one man it could possibly be. There was only one man that would be walking towards them from the heart of that awesome and terrible spectacle. Certainly, it must be the same man who had disappeared into the great gateway?

She called his name aloud, uncertain and hopeful, desperate for her eyes not to be deceiving her heart.

_It was him. _

And now he was running towards them.

Matt Anderson.

Alive and as happy as she'd ever seen him. And the same man with whom she had helplessly, hopelessly, undeniably and irrevocably fallen in love.

The world was the most beautiful it had ever been, in the billions years since it had formed, in the paltry few decades of Emily's life.

It was beautiful.

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><p><strong>AN: Where will I take this now? Stick around to find out… ;-)**


	7. Undeniably, loved

**Author's note: This one is still sort of episode-tag-like, since it deals with the end of 5x06.**

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><p><strong>Post Episode 5x06...by a few weeks or so...<strong>

"Plates?" Emily asked, already opening the requisite cupboard door. Left to his own devices (there was no doubt in her mind), Matt would eat directly from the take-away container. And while there were many discrepancies in social protocol to which Emily could adapt, she demanded at least this one concession to maintaining a modicum of civilized behaviour.

She studied the plain white china, that Jess would no doubt apply the term 'chic.' Emily could only call it 'utilitarian', perhaps Spartan, like most everything in Matt Anderson's life. Well, his former life. She was working quite diligently at drawing him out into the world, convincing him to carry on with his life. Or to finally claim one, as it were. It most unfortunately was proving a far more difficult endeavour than she had anticipated.

There was nothing for it but to take one step at a time. Eventually, they'd attain their destination.

But first, training him to take his repast like a person. She chewed her lip briefly, contemplating which size plates to choose.

How hungry were they?

She leaned back from the cupboard until she could see Matt and ascertain the degree of his appetite. He was stood with his back leaning against the sink, his hands across his chest. His eyes stared unfocused, a million years away, perhaps. And his mouth was set in a grimace.

He'd been distant, sad even. It worried Emily no insignificant amount, but she had held firm to the belief that he respected and liked her enough to tell her of his concerns at the appropriate moment. Not that a distant, stoic Matt Anderson was an oddity. Contrary, this was the same man with whom she'd initially become acquainted. A man weary from cumbersome thoughts, from an unseen weight laid upon his shoulders, from a dreadful responsibility.

Only, that had all ended the day her heart had nearly been broken but instead was given reason to rejoice. It had almost cost him his life, the entirety of his existence, to put an end to it all, to save mankind and change the future. Except it had not claimed him. He had walked away unscathed. And she saw the change in him, the genuine joy, the blatant affection directed towards her person. It wasn't that he never touched her previously. He simply always seemed to catch himself and look guilty over the gesture or rescind it entirely.

Not on that day.

Having effectively destroyed Captain Becker's truck, they all had walked back towards the ARC, eventually encountering their own personnel and securing transportation. And the entire time, Matt had been in constant physical contact with her. He placed an arm over her shoulder, pulled her tight against his side. They'd separated a bit and he had entwined his fingers with hers. And when that was no longer enough, he snaked his arm about her middle, his hand grasping her waist and pulling her flush against him one more. He had been so warm and solid. Heaven help her, how she loved the feel of him beside her, his body close to hers. She never wanted to be parted from him. Yet by the end of the day, he had become withdrawn once more.

This was too bloody much. She could no longer bear to see him in such a state. Granted, he was an adept at burying his thoughts and feelings -which only made the fact of his blatant disturbance the more troubling- and he'd probably smile and talk with her as they dined, sit close to her when they retired to watch a movie or read a book, put his arm around her, perhaps even kiss her. He would perform all those tasks, and would do so sincerely.

She was not deluding herself into believing that Matt wanted to love her. The desire was apparent in the way he looked at her, touched her. Yet he did not embrace the feeling. Instead he seemed to fight it as if it were something he could not succumb to, like it had been before. But before the feelings were only vague sparks that had not yet caught. And she could not understand why he ignored the warmth of the flames, choosing instead to stand in the cold.

Abandoning any notion of dinner entirely, having lost her previous appetite, Emily approached the man still stood in pensive thought against the counter. She reached out and touched his warm cheek, speaking his name, and smiling briefly over the feel of the seemingly perpetual stubble against her palm.

Looking a bit startled, he finally returned from wherever he'd been, his stance opening slightly to her, bestowing his gaze and a smile upon her. The smile reached his eyes but it did not claim them in their entirety.

"What's been bothering you?" she asked. The smile faded and Matt stiffened almost unperceivably.

"Nothing important."

Emily sighed, removed her hand from his face, turned away and struggled to reign in the frustration and vexation, reminding herself that she indeed, undeniably, loved this confounding man.

"You've been... withdrawn as of late," she said, facing him once more. "Please don't tell me that there's nothing going on. I know you."

The steel in his eyes melted.

"It's probably nothing..."

Matt told her a story. A brief tale, but a terrifying one. A ghostly apparition with a vague but poignant warning.

"I was exhausted," Matt said. "Given what happened that day... It could've been a hallucination, for all I know."

He gave Emily a half-hearted smile.

"It's more than that," she said. "You would not be so preoccupied, if it were nothing."

He chuckled, nodding his head in concession. Rising to his full height, he appeared to wish to conclude the conversation, turning towards the take-a-way they had acquired for dinner. Emily stopped him by placing a hand upon his arm, capturing his eyes when he turned towards her.

"Promise me you won't try to protect me from this," she said. "Promise me that whatever happens, we'll face it together."

_Oh, bother it._

"I cannot... I cannot exist in the world without you." She searched his blue eyes and found that which she needed to encourage her continuation. Before, she had acted with prudence, taking his own reserved manner as cue. She could no longer do so and hope for more from him.

"I love you," she said.

Her heart stopped beating in the long moment that followed, in which his piercing blue gaze bore into her soul. There was no doubt there. And it wasn't hesitation upon his part. It was more of a pause born of respect, of allowing the significance of the words she'd spoken to settle upon them. They were not just words, not just a random utterance, and they deserved the consideration he granted them.

His hands, warm and solid, cupped her face. Her heart not only resumed beating but took on a maddening pace. His eyes were bright, and the most beautiful deep of blues she'd ever beheld as they continued to hold her gaze.

"I promise when I figure out what's going on, you'll be the first to know. The last thing I want to do is exclude you from my life.

"I love you, Emily."

It was ridiculous, as she was well aware. She knew how he felt. But to hear it spoken aloud caused her heart to swell beyond bursting and tears spilled over.

Matt's thumbs gently brushed them away, stroked her cheeks, sending warmth tingling through her. Instinctually, she shivered over the unfamiliar darkening of his eyes.

"Be with me, tonight."

His voice was low, with a hint of gravel. His gaze unwavering. His touch gentle yet firm.

"Where else would I go?" Emily asked. She had been living in his home since she'd returned. Something entirely unheard of in her native time, but nothing out of the ordinary for the 21st century. In fact, the relatively slow development of their relationship would likely be considered an oddity by the standards of the time.

"No." Matt chuckled, his eyes lighting up without losing their dark edge. "That's not what I meant.

"I want to sleep with you, Emily."

They slept together often. His arms wrapped about her, or with her body curled to his side. But always platonically, even when her thoughts did not remain so. And that dark edge to his eyes... That's not what he meant either. _Sleep with someone_. She'd heard that before. Oh. _Sleeping together. Sex_. Matt wished to bed her.

Heat flooded through her, from the skin-on-skin contact of his hands upon her face down to her toes, and _every_ place in between. She felt the flush of the blood rising to the surface of her skin as she recognized the darkness in his eyes for what it was... hunger. Desire and lust for her flesh.

Memories came rushing forth, more sensation than images, and debilitatingly vivid with their original source so close, so warm. Lying supine on the sofa, his solid frame hovering over her, pressing into her in strategically devastating places. His hands caressing her in ways that veritably destroyed her senses. His mouth doing... amazing things to her skin, her lips. But never anything more, never pushing her further. Just enough of a taste to tease her, to let her know it would be unlike any previous experience she had in her life.

She smiled at Matt, and he returned it with a slow, lazy smile of his own. And he said nothing, did not move a muscle. The man was certainly possessed of a great deal of patience. He was waiting for her decision without pressing her in the least. Of course, his mere presence was an extremely influential factor upon her consideration, Emily had to admit.

"I would like that very much," she said, finally voicing a decision she really did not have to give a great deal of thought towards making.

And then Matt kissed her, initially slow and gentle, but rapidly compounding into the most overwhelming embrace in which Emily had ever been involved. And as her knees grew weak, and his hands slipped to her waist to support her, Emily realized the degree of restraint Matt had formerly exercised in their previous encounters. The revelation, the anticipation of what would shortly follow caused her to tremble in his arms even when he freed her mouth to gasp in air.

He nuzzled her cheek, placed kisses along her jaw, and whispered huskily in her ear.

"Shall we take this into the bedroom?"

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><p><strong>AN: Well, hopefully I kept the smut and mush to a minimum (non-scandalous/non-vomit-inducing levels) ;-) More to come…**


	8. She simply could not stop laughing

**Author's note: A fun one, for a change! Because there are positive emotions that make a girl cry, too...  
><strong>

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><p>Oh! It was difficult even to draw breath. Emily was doubled over, near collapsed completely upon the ground. A pang stabbed brusquely into her side, her muscles protesting, her diaphragm seizing.<p>

Air! She required air or she would surely die.

But she simply could not stop laughing.

The young blonde woman served as little support with her body likewise convulsing from hysterical fits of amusement. Without the other to hold them up, however, there was no doubt in Emily's mind that she and Abby both would be sprawled completely upon the ground, rendered senseless by the hilarity of the situation. Then again, such a prone position might be more conducive to regaining one's breath and calming one's diaphragm.

Emily stared doggedly at an uninteresting point of asphalt a few feet in front of her. If she glanced at Abby and by chance their eyes met, they would only erupt in further intense fits of laughter. And if she even caught the image of the men -_men! _Emily snorted, and a flood of laughter escaped her once more. _More like boys_. If she looked at the _boys_ again, she would surely be the first person in all of human history to die from a fit of laughter.

Desperately, she tried to remain focused on that dull spot of pavement, tried to conjure sad and sobering thoughts.

It was futile.

How did that saying go?

It was like watching a train wreck. Emily's eyes were compelled to search out the source of such deadly diversion once more.

Maybe it wasn't as humorous as she thought.

No.

It was.

Captain Becker, Connor Temple and Matt Anderson were stood a few yards away, with disgusted (and fast becoming vexed -no doubt over the women's reactions) expressions. They were silent. The only sound to be heard besides the raucous laughter of Emily and Abby, was a heavy, almost rhythmic pattering. It sounded like thick, viscous rain. And Emily did not have to guess its source. It was the sound cerulean blue mucus made as it ran down the faces, arms, hands, and fingers of three chagrined ARC employees to drip onto the paved ground.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Emily clutched at her aching stomach muscles. /_Just imagine the terrible job it's going to be cleaning them up. _Matt was going to leave a sticky trail from the front door all the way to the en suite that no mop was going to erase (because there was no possibility Lester would permit the men back into the ARC in such a state). Ugh. And the clothes. It was very likely they'd have to be destroyed. For certain, they could not be put in the wash with the other laundry. She wasn't sure that she wanted to touch them herself. And Matt, obviously soaked through with the grotesque mire (if the way his clothing was adhering tightly to his body was any indication), would require assistance peeling them off. Emily wrinkled her nose. And it seemed to be possessing of the most noxious of odours.

Bloody men!

In a foolish fit of -what had Abby called it?- _machismo_, Matt, Becker and Connor had insisted they take care of the nest of insectoid creatures whilst the girls held down the perimeter. Apparently, the egg sacks had exploded, coating the men from head to toe in the creatures' equivalent to amniotic fluid, and sending spider-like creatures about the size of a person's head scurrying from the premises. With assistance from a few of Becker's men, Abby and Emily had easily corralled them into secure containers. And it appeared the women would still have much to do in order to clean up their idiotic male counterpart's mess.

_You see it clearly, now, Miss Emily?_

_Not funny._

A glob of goo oozed down Matt's forehead, between his brows, along the bridge of his nose, pooling momentarily at the tip before dripping to the ground in an iridescent blue splatter.

The laughter burst past Emily's tightly pressed lips, and she shook with the intensity of the amusement. Her lungs burned and her eyes began to water. And she was fully crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, before her body finally calmed and her mirth subsided somewhat.

Abby helped her regain her feet as Emily wiped tears from her streaming eyes. The boys looked as if their tenuous patience was just about depleted entirely, which really was uncalled for. It may have felt an eternity while in the throes of such debilitating merriment, but Emily was certain their gaiety at the wretched group of scraggly men had not lasted more than a couple minutes.

They couldn't really be all that angry. They had only gotten what they deserved, after all.

Emily surveyed her lover's mucus-coated features. Grim, perhaps, but not entirely devoid of the self-effacing amusement he sometimes possessed. The corner of his mouth was twitching- perchance a battle against a smile? And his eyes were a bright blue that almost glowed in congruence with the creature excretion coating him.

Emily mustered a serious expression.

"I do believe it suits you, Matt," she said, indicating the slime with a wave of her hand. She turned to Abby. "Brings out the colour of his eyes. Would you not agree?"

The younger woman nodded but declined to speak. Strangled chortling gurgled in the back of Abby's throat. Emily likewise fought the rise of laughter deep in her chest that threatened once more to rip through her and invade the world with dissonant glee. Instead, she swallowed it down, turning to give Matt a playful look.

_Oh, dear_. He was grinning mischievously.

He glanced to his mucus-afflicted compatriots, and without a word, the three men began to advance with steady squelching footsteps.

Matt held his arms out to Emily.

"I think you need a hug," he said.

There was girlish shrieking that Emily could not reconcile with the stolid character of either Abby or herself. However, it doubtless belonged to both women who were being threatened with a muck of an epically horrifying, repulsive nature. Her young blonde friend, and current comrade in arms, grabbed her hand and they bolted for the safety of the 4x4.

They did not make it.

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><p><strong>AN: And probably back to the more heavy emotional whatnot… I have couple more scenarios in mind before this little venture is concluded.**


	9. Unexpected Heartache

**Author's note: Back to some angst, because I apparently am a sadist when it comes to characters I like…**

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><p>When Jess put her arms around Emily and hugged her tight, the dam burst. Tears spilled down her severely white cheeks unabashed by the vulnerability they displayed. For once, the younger woman remained quiet. Perhaps knowing their futility, Jess offered not a word of consolation. And Emily was grateful for the silent support given her by one she considered a close friend.<p>

From the moment Abby had imparted the disturbing news, all the way through the ride to hospital, even sitting there in the stark hall, Emily had remained calm and stoic. It was her nature to bear hardship with stalwart determination and a facade of indifference. That was, except for when _he_ was concerned. Matt rendered her incapable of such reserve of character. When he was involved, feeling and sentiment cascaded over her, from her, like a waterfall. It was not that she disliked the feelings he stirred within her (for the most part), but she most decidedly did not like the vulnerability that often accompanied such sentiments.

Matt had not promised never to make her cry. And she was glad of it. For it demonstrated that he would not lie to her simply to appease her finer feelings.

Still, she had never expected for him to cause her to weep for such a reason as this.

It had begun as a quiet sort of day, and Emily had been determined to comprehend this 'internet' thing by its close, contingent upon the aide Jess had agreed to bestow. And thus they had been mid-google search of Steampunk fashion (Jess thought Emily might find some personal irony in it) when the alarm sounded. The gatew-anomaly had been in the middle of a field in a remote hamlet and Jess' role in assisting containment minimal. So they had decided to continue their lesson while the others were dealing with the hole in time. And Emily would forever rebuke herself for the choice, question whether her presence would have made any difference, would've prevented Matt's being injured. For there had been a creature incursion. It was not in her current capacity to remember what Connor had called them. It did not matter their name. Only that they had talons enough to have torn through Matt's flesh, puncturing a lung Abby had said.

She choked on unfettered sobs.

How could she live without him?

Oh, technically she could, and she probably would continue on. For she was a survivor. But it was a prospect more terrifying than the most gruesome death she could imagine. Her life would be an empty shell, worse than the hollowness of her existence prior to loving Matt, for she now knew what living _could_ be. And Matt! The life he never had, denying his own desires for so long, to have so little time with the freedom most people took for granted. It broke her heart.

She had been trying not to push him, to let him explore such freedoms of choice on his own terms, to decide his life's course in its own time. But now Emily regretted keeping those sentiments locked in her heart that she feared were too great a pressure for a man so recently unburdened.

If only he would recover from this, she would tell him everything she felt for him, everything he meant to her. It was not as if she were cold towards him, for she told him she loved him with words and gestures. Their embraces were filled with such feeling that... oh, she just wanted to be able to hold him again, his warmth and his heartbeat soothing her. His arms were her home, the only place she belonged. She would tell him, because it felt so wrong, so devastating that he did not know.

The secret of Emily's heart was that she wanted more than anything she'd ever desired before in her life to be Matt Anderson's wife.

Whether he wanted to be her husband, to spend the rest of his life with her, or not, she _needed _him to know. He did not have to reciprocate to make her happy.

Matt only needed to live for the benefit of her poor heart's continued beating.

Footsteps, echoing loudly in the oddly silent corridor disrupted her sorrow. With her eyes lowered, Emily only saw the shoes stop before her, but knew with a tightening of her insides, it was the doctor come to give his report, whether it be good news or... she swallowed back a sob... _bad_.

"Emily?"

It was asking permission as much as confirmation for the conversation that needed to follow, but she could not raise her face, her eyes, to meet the doctor's. Jess' right hand was solid and steady on the distraught woman's back, her left one warm and firm clasping Emily's fingers. Emily took a deep breath. The delay was torture. The prospect of what the doctor's news might contain, terrifying.

Emily looked up, a fresh course of tears trailing down her stained cheeks. They did not stop. But now they flowed for a different reason. Relief. Before the doctor even could open his mouth, she had read it in his face.

Matt Anderson would recover. He was alive. And Emily would tell him just how much she truly loved him.

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><p><strong>AN: Sick of this yet? ;-) Just a couple more and I think I'll be through harassing Emily (in this fic, at least…)**


	10. Lonely

**Author's Note: This ended up a more emotionally tumultuous bit than I had thought going in… but hopefully it turned out alright/in character.**

**Warning: Mention of woman's issues? If that makes you uncomfortable?**

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><p>Emily Anderson awoke in one of the most terrible states imaginable. She was cold and lonely. Sighing heavily, she opened her eyes to study the vacant pillow beside her. Where she should find bright blue eyes staring back at her, into her, there was instead nothing. She ran a wistful hand over the empty bedclothes. She would have to put another blanket on tonight, she decided, shivering slightly. Normally, they kept a scant layer of quilt covering the linens and their often even scanter-clad bodies. Matt provided all the heat she ever required, whether she were cuddled up tight against him or not. But he wasn't there. Had not been there for going on three weeks. And even though she felt quite warm when she retired to bed for the night, she awoke thoroughly chilled.<p>

The prospect of potentially colder air did little to convince her to toss back the covers and begin her day. Instead she wormed her way to the vacant side of the bed, burying her face in the abandoned pillow and taking in a deep breath. She should've changed the linens last week, but Emily was quite certain she could not bear the loss of that lingering scent of her husband.

She groaned into the pillow.

How insanely melodramatic was she? He'd soon return. Their separation wasn't going to be forever. It wasn't even for a long duration. The Canadians had simply required help setting up their own Anomaly Research Center to deal with the rips in time and creature incursions.

She should have insisted upon accompanying Matt.

Except, that wasn't necessary. He had argued that they would need her here in his absence, that he was confident the ARC team could handle the workload without him for a week or two..._or three …or four_. Besides, she was an independent 21st century woman. She certainly did not need to be mooning at her husband's side every minute of every day.

Only, Emily hadn't quite realized the enormity of the void his absence would create. It was in all the little things. Yes, she missed the kisses, the caresses, the earth-shattering orgasms. Yet it was the small things that struck her with a severe bout of melancholy. Like waking up cold. Eating breakfast alone. Finding no little notes left when their schedules caused them to miss meeting in person. Sweet ones saying 'Love you.' Or banal ones warning her the milk was almost gone, or apologizing for using the last egg. She had forgotten to get orange juice, and for some unfathomable reason nearly cried the previous morning when there was nothing to drink with her breakfast. And worst of all, there were no blue eyes watching her, smiling at her, comforting her, loving her.

Jess, Abby and Connor, even Captain Becker, were doing their best to assuage her loneliness, inviting her to lunch and dinner, movies, shopping, girl's nights. Well, 'Girl's Night' had already been a long established tradition. But it was sweet of them, and Emily dearly loved her friends for their thoughtfulness.

Despite the attention of such devoted friends, however, Emily felt herself fade a little every day Matt was gone. As if the sun had vanished from the sky. Not altogether gone, but hidden from her as if perpetually shrouded by clouds. And she despaired of ever feeling that nourishing warmth again.

Ridiculous!

Throwing back the covers, Emily cried out at the rush of cold air as she forced herself to get out of bed. She scurried into the en suite, hastily closing the door behind her and starting a hot bath. The air misted almost immediately as the scalding water poured into the cool porcelain basin, fogging the mirrors in the enclosed space. She wiped at the reflective surface over the sink with her discarded pajama bottoms, and frowned. She looked rather a mess. Dark circles under her eyes. Stress lines on her forehead and at the corners of her mouth. Her chestnut locks looking as if some small creature had nested there. Most definitely_ not _appealing.

Maybe it was best Matt was not there to see her.

No. He would've smiled and stroked her arm, pulled her close, kissed her... Emily shut her eyes. She could almost feel his lips on hers. If only...

_Stop this, Emily! Right now._

She took in a slow, ragged breath. There was that spot deep in the pit of her stomach. It was rising, growing, threatening to overwhelm her again. Oh god, she just missed him so much. She was dying to look into those blue eyes. The bluest she'd ever seen. They were the ocean and the sky, the world. _Her world_.

When had she fallen so hopelessly in love with blue eyes?

She missed them more than his touch, his kiss. And she craved them like an addict craves opium, was desperate for them like a suffocating man despairs of oxygen. She would not be whole again until she was gazing into those blue eyes.

Oh, and here were the tears again. Insane, thick, fat tears, rolling down her now flushed cheeks, burning her skin with their salt. And then the sobs bubbling up from deep inside of her, small at first but growing quickly larger. As she slumped to the floor and curled up in a tight ball sobbing on the plush rug, Emily could no longer deny there was much more fueling her emotional turmoil than the absence of her husband. She had read enough women's journals, viewed enough television programmes to recognize the symptoms. Not to mention, her own suspicions -no, knowledge. Knowledge she had tried to deny. Because he wasn't there, and she was confused and lost and frightened.

And there was no correct way to tell one's husband they were pregnant over a long distance telephone call.

Especially when one was severely hormonal and needy. And likely to start sobbing with enough force to make speech incoherent.

Emily placed a hand low on a belly that showed no sign of what likely was occurring within her. Maybe she was simply losing her mind. Why, after all she had suffered, all she had survived, that when her life had finally settled into a pleasant sort of existence, she would become mentally unbalanced was beyond her. It did not make sense.

However, being pregnant did offer sufficient explanation. It also explained why it'd been over seven weeks since she'd last bled. At first, it had not alarmed her in the least when day after day she failed to menstruate. Throughout all her years traveling through gateways, her body had never been consistent. Discovering it was a trouble shared by her female traveling companions, Emily truly believed in the linkage of a woman's cycle to the moon. They jumped through different Lunar phases so often, their bodies had been thrown completely awry. Though, it had seemed as if her physiology had adapted to her new, permanent, home time.

Could she really be with child?

Why did the idea of it make her cry? Emily had never told anyone, but she would not deny that she had wanted to bear Matt's children almost from the first moment he had smiled at her. And it was not the thought of a baby growing inside of her that she found upsetting. It was not the fear of agonizing labour to bring it into the world. It was not concern over her abilities to care for and nurture a child. It was the thought of Matt not being there with her that formed the knot in her throat. She knew he would return. But the fear of his absence remained. The fear and the loneliness and the pain of being separated from him.

In her youth, she had always deferred to the direction of others, her parents, her brothers, her first husband, requiring their wishes to define her personality. In her years independent from the society of her birth and its constrictive roles, she had come to know herself as a unique individual, independent and whole. Yet it had not been a compromise to that sense of self when she fell in love with Matt and he became her other half. Rather, her world had expanded to encompass him, her being and identity growing to envelop his life as well as her own. They were of one flesh and blood, one soul formed from the joining of two.

And now, there was the potential for that flesh and blood to grow once more, to contain another life.

_Oh, Matt. Return to me. And soon._

"Emily?"

She must be entirely relieved of her senses, because it almost sounded like Matt had called her name. Oh, what a pathetic mess she was.

"Are you alright?"

Emily started, leapt to her feet and threw herself at her husband who was stood looking bemusedly at her from the doorway. The force with which her body impacted his was severe enough to send him staggering back a few feet as he caught her in his arms.

"I missed you, too," he said after a bit of laboured breathing. Apparently, she had knocked the wind from his lungs with her tackling hug. But she did not lessen her grip on the man, her heart and soul. Instead, she clung tightly to him, burying her face in his shoulder.

_Matt..._

He was so very solid and comfortingly warm. And the scent of him so strong it made her entirely forget her desperate desire to preserve the ghost of it that lingered about their bed. The teasing male aroma of perspiration was more pronounced than was normal for him, and Emily realized he had just returned from an arduous journey home in which he had possessed no time for ablutions, let alone bathing. And for once, she did not care. Rather, she reveled in the overpowering scent of his unwashed skin.

Finally, she was pulled from her revel in his presence as he pried her off from his body and held her away from him a bit to look at her.

With those blue eyes.

Emily sighed. She no longer felt as if a piece of her were missing. It had been nothing so obviously debilitating as a limb, but something akin to the smallest, imperceptible sliver of her heart, an injury at the core of her being that was causing her slowly to die.

But no more.

Matt took her face in his hands and she smiled broadly right up until the point his lips met hers and her mouth was distracted by other endeavours. His kisses had always been invariably effective, achieving whatever affect upon her he wished, whether it were to show his appreciation, placate any ire he'd stirred, soothe a sadness, bestow his love, or rouse her to his desires. This, however, was different. His touch was a familiarity so ingrained within her being that she could recall the sensations at will. Yet there was a novelty present in their current embrace doubtless born of their absence. It was passion and comfort, vigor and savouring.

Emily was left feeling only warmth and contentment when their embrace ended. The man did know how to kiss her _just so. _However, it was more than her husband's intuitively perceptive touch. There had been a mirth bubbling inside of her for quite a time. With the pervasive loneliness, it had continued unnoticed. Now that the weight of Matt's absence had been lifted, the excitement and joy was threatening to command the entirety of her existence. And Emily was not wholly opposed to permitting it to do so.

Matt, however, was frowning at her, his hands cupping her face once more and his thumbs gently rubbing her raw cheeks. The caress stung the sensitive skin despite the delicacy of his touch.

"You've been crying," he said, presently appearing quite concerned with furrowed brow and worried eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "I was simply being silly. It does not matter now, at any rate."

"Emily," he said, giving her a stern look. "You are one of the strongest people I've ever met. You don't cry for no reason."

_You should well know, _Emily thought. _You've been the reason often enough._

She sighed.

"I suffered a moment of profound loneliness."

Matt's look turned incredulous.

"Ridiculous, I know," she said, placing a hand upon his arm. "But I truly did miss you."

She squeezed the taut muscle beneath the sleeve of his shirt, as tense as he appeared to be.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Perhaps, her inability to cease smiling had unnerved him, Only she simply could not help it. The world was such a beautiful place now, filled with _blue eyes_, warm hands on her face, and her husband stood so near she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her breast as he breathed in and out. Perhaps it was merely fantasy, but Emily believed she could feel the beat of his heart, as well.

The smile lit her face. So broad it was, she could feel the expression tugging her cheeks into round apples. Taking Matt's hands, she led him to sit beside her upon the edge of their bed.

"I have something to tell you," she said, trying to acquire a more sober expression and failing. For his part, Matt looked rather perplexed. He somehow remained patient, silently waiting as she took a deep breath to quell excited nerves. Had their positions been reversed, Emily knew she would've throttled him by now for failing to elucidate his point.

"I believe I'm with child."

She held her breath and a moment that was no longer than two seconds stretched on for an eternity. And then Matt smiled, reaching for her and pulling her into the tightest hug he'd ever given her. The embrace was warm and happy to the point of discomfort. Emily felt her cheeks blush more heartily with embarrassed pride. He lavished her with words of praise and love as he cradled her snuggly against him.

And then suddenly, he released her, pulling away with a frown furrowing his brow.

"You were crying," he said. He studied her with that intense gaze typical to him. "Emily, is this something _you_ want? I mean, if you didn't... you could've told me... Don't think you have to..."

"Matt!" Never had Emily seen her husband so discombobulated. There was a tendency for being inarticulate at moments, but he was rambling for goodness' sake. "I cannot express to you with words my joy. Of course I want this child, if it indeed is to be."

The intensity of his gaze softened.

"You haven't seen a doctor yet?"

Emily shook her head. "I was upset and in a relative state of denial without being able to share this with you."

He pulled her once more into his warm, solid embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said. His strong hands rubbed her back. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. We'll make sure everything's okay."

Emily sighed, all the tension and excitement melting into a blissful contentment. They had discussed having children, but never had made it a goal, something that would put pressure on their relationship. If it was meant to be, then it was meant to be. If not... Matt never brought the topic up, left it to her choosing whether she wished to discuss it, knowing the pain she had revealed to him to still linger, that of her previous miscarriage. Henry had not been supportive, had offered only harsh words and accusation rather than the comfort she needed. Her first husband had only seen her failure, the loss of his heir, giving no heed to her grief.

When, just a few weeks after their wedding with Matt called away, she missed her cycle, the fear and grief came flooding back. And Matt had not been there to reassure and comfort her.

But he was now. And everything was going to be fine. Better than fine.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, too, Emily. More than anything."

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><p><strong>AN: Phew… one chapter left, I think, for this little fic. And then maybe onto something a bit less angst/sappy. :-p  
><strong>


	11. Joy

**Author's note: Grab the bread and the peanut butter, because I've got the fluff…**

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><p>Perhaps it was simply a result of the endorphins. Apparently that odd exuberance one felt after extreme exertion was due to chemicals produced by the brain. Such a profound knowledge of the human body this age possessed. Judging by what she had just endured, however, it did not necessarily follow that possession of such knowledge made life easy. But without the trials, joy was nothing more than ignorant contentment.<p>

And at this moment, what Emily Anderson felt was profound joy.

Her muscles ached and fatigue bit at her bones, as if she had just spent the last ten hours barely outpacing a tyrannosaur, and periodically failing to avoid its clutches. But the medicines had done their job. She was not in outright pain, simply exhausted.

And yet...

She could not sleep even if she desired to do so. And she did _not _desire it. Not just yet. She had not quite had her fill of the joy she'd been given. Pure happiness lay in her arms. Her eyes would never drink their fill, her fingers never be sated. Even if her heart were to burst with the bliss of this moment, she would die craving more.

Charlotte Joy Anderson.

The most beautiful three words in the history of the world. Her daughter. The daughter given her by the man she loved. Perfect little fingers and toes. Born with big brown eyes and a mop of fine brown hair. Cherubic, fat cheeks. Skin softer than any luxurious silk Emily had ever touched. A soul that glowed as a small heart pumped blood to warm the tiny body held tight to her breasts swollen with milk.

Soon, she would nurse her infant daughter for the first time.

Emily smiled. Or rather, she continued to smile. Her finger ran over the supple, plump cheek of her daughter's face once more. Look at her. It was beyond her comprehension, how this life had come from her, this tiny person grown inside of her, begun from nothing. Well, not nothing... from an act of love, a communion with a man who possessed her heart and soul.

Finally, she tore her eyes away from the bundle of joy in her arms, to search out the man she had to thank for it. Matt was stood, hovering over her hospital bed. In her preoccupation with the fresh life held to her chest, she had not even noticed. They exchanged a look, filled with the pride of their accomplishment, the adoration for their daughter, and edged with the passion that had created the child.

"She's beautiful, Emily."

Vanity and pride were sins, but in this instance, she could not feel the guilt of them. Emily beamed at Matt. She had done well. She had grown this baby inside of her and then delivered the child, healthy and beautiful into the world. And it was quite beyond obvious in Matt's countenance that he loved Charlotte. Perhaps, even as much as Emily herself did. Yes, she most certainly had done a superb job of it.

"And I'm monopolizing her, aren't I?" Emily said. "Would you like to hold her?"

Granted, Matt had been the first, after the doctor and nurses, to hold Charlotte. And perhaps, Emily would forever be jealous of that fact. Although, one could further argue, that she had held their daughter, inside of her womb, from the very instant the child's cells had begun to divide. And at that time, even though they both knew the baby's presence was the inevitable outcome, Emily had seen it was shock and surprise that dominated her husband's emotions upon first encountering their daughter. It was much the same for Emily, when the baby was laid in her arms after they cleaned them both and stitched Emily up. But she had not released her since, had time to move beyond shock to pure joy. And she wanted to share that bliss with Matt.

Eager to accept, he pulled a chair up to Emily's bedside, and she released her daughter into the tender clutches of the baby girl's father despite her reluctance to be a moment separated from Charlotte. Emily watched, her heart swelling impossibly further, as Matt cradled the newborn close to his chest, stroking the soft cheek with the back of his finger, bending his head to smell her new life scent, to kiss her small forehead.

"God, she's beautiful."

His voice sounded strained. And when he looked up, Emily knew why. His cheeks were wet with tears. There was no doubting he shared the overwhelming joy that warmed Emily to the very center of her soul. She smiled broadly.

It was true, that men from the future could cause a woman to weep. But once in a while, they could be brought to tears as well.

"Come here," she said, kissing him soundly when he leaned in, their little girl becoming fussy and then beginning a hearty wail as she was jostled between her blissfully happy parents.

END


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